Panhandle Song

Image courtesy of SueAnn friend of Brian Miller Hosting Poetics today

Now we’re aged sail ribs and tailbones,
our sucker rods dried, split with time.
Wind whistles us drained desert stones
spinning dizzy in retooled rhymes.

Yellow shadows once slipped through grass;
lying hidden, cicada waves
told tales of days when we’d surpass
cliff high flats and the deep sky’s blades.

Curved highways led to city streets.
Fast steps formed glass and metal tunes.
Rain skies erased the sun in sheets
then rusted heart-forged clever runes.

Unique melodies milled by wind,
Half-tones decay before our end.

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * 11/3/2012 * All Rights Reserved

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41 thoughts on “Panhandle Song

  1. Beautiful! This sings to me, Gay. I especially like:

    Yellow shadows once slipped through grass;
    lying hidden, cicada waves
    told tales of days when we’d surpass
    cliff high flats and the deep sky’s blades.

  2. nice…love hte way your words just bend around my tongue gay….sky blades, bending highways….rain skies…rusted heart-forged clever runes….your wind certainly has unique melodies…smiles….

  3. There’s the sadness of decay, of a rusting present, but there’s also a sense of accomplishment, that there was glory once, and memories now to comfort as the past is overgrown. Loved this.

  4. Yellow shadows once slipped through grass… ..It seems somehow sad in a way, fondly remembering the old days. Sometimes in some ways, they were also the best ways too. Lovely interpretation of the picture.

  5. Bitchin’ sonnet that rattles along washboarded dusty farm roads in West Texas, where the old windmills stand staring at abandoned houses, their blades squawking a rusty lullaby as the remorseless wind taunts and whooshes; liked the line /wind whistles us dry desert stories/.

  6. Thanks everyone. Wonder if the rhythm bothers anyone? It began as somewhat “off” – I started with an 8 syllable line with a stressed first syllable and thought I’d pretty much start every line stressed, but in the end I didn’t and the feet oscillate with iambs, trochees, and anapests; still the odd rhythms, somewhat out of kilter, seem to support the theme of the poem so I left them that way. I’d like to know if you think it would be better if the rhythm was “regular”?

  7. ahh…and how beautifully they sing. loved the feel and flow–particularly the last two lines of the first stanza withy their onslaught of double consonants.

  8. Birthdays are always a time of intense reflection for me and I saw undertones of assessment in this which sings a beautiful but somewhat mournful tune. The orchestration is impeccable and it really transported me through time. Wonderful!

  9. Really neat response to this painting. In particular, something about the third stanza that strikes me, perhaps it’s the runes, which offers so much symbolic relevance. Great read. Thanks

  10. Unique melodies milled by wind…love that gay…that would’ve been the pic i chose as well, had i not been in san francisco for the weekend…a very reflective write…great use of the windmill as a metaphor as well…so was it your birthday…?

  11. Goodness, Gay, good stuff. “aged sail ribs and tailbones…sucker rods dried, split with time.” Wind, windmills and time. Highways leading to city streets. Fast steps, glass and metal. Unique melodies, indeed.

  12. Loved reading this the other night….had to come back today..the ‘cicada waves’..and the ‘yellow shadows slipping though grass’ are only two instances of lovely writing that makes inanimate objects have human characteristics…sometimes I feel like I am ‘spitting with time’ 😉

  13. Now we’re aged sail ribs and tailbones,
    our sucker rods dried, split with time.
    Wind whistles us drained desert stones
    spinning dizzy in retooled rhymes.

    This first stanza ties up nicely to what a windmill is like. It’s aged and weathered but still spinning. Great write Gay!

    Hank

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